We need it like this to show ur support n repost

I am a good thinker
yet a bad writer

However, I am a dreamer
so I will keep on writing
like a child keeps on drawing.

On a moonlit night,
after a long time
the two wanderers finally met.
They shared an extraordinary
bond that held them close.
One with a crushed heart
and the other with a secret.
He wanted to share his
Story and she had a
confession to make.
A rain drop fell
on the ground and
so did a tear that
rolled down her cheek
when she heard his
story.
He had a ******* his
mind who had left
him with deep scars.
Her heart sunk
and all the butterflies
died.
She submerged in her
own pain.
He told her how much
he adored the girl
and how she had
taken over his heart.
The petrichor
lingered in her mind.
The stars skewed.
A dream that turned
cataclysmic affected
every single atom of
her body.
He held her hand tight
and asked her if
she would help him
get through the heinous
storm.
She nodded with a constrained
smile on her face.
He didn't realize how hurt
She was.
Unfortunately, he  was the only
the one who could be a bandaid
and heal her scars.
She remained quiet and swallowed
the words back in.
Her secret remained a
secret which she couldn't
shrive .
It remained enclosed
to the world.
Losing him as a friend was
something she couldn't
afford.
So she just let it die
and bother her inside.
She buried it deep inside
her heart and completely
concealed it where no one
could find it.
But neither of them were at fault.
Both of the wanderers craved
loved on that night.
Sitting so close, fingers interlinked,
they were stuck in an esthetical
mess of love and insanity.
The two paths had
finally met but a night had
never seemed so
Solitudinarian before.

If I could tattoo my poetry to my skin, I would
I would show them my word-riddled wrists
Where the scars used to be
And the prosaic verses sprawled on my neck
Where I planned to loop the rope

If my poems were good, I would tattoo them on my skin
Sadly, all I have are a sophomoric amalgamates of odd words
That make dead poets turn in their graves

I self destruct
It's what I do best
I wreck things I love
I leave behind mess

I'm on a war path of my own
And I burn bridges better than most
Set in my ways like stone
I keep wandering lonely roads

Brought up in a tired old town
I've never been one for sticking around
I've got madness on my mind
I keep running to leave it behind

This cold heart keeps warm
Wrapped up in trouble is all I know
I wear it like an armour
Sticks and stones won't break these bones

Wise crack
Wild as a fire
I'll say the wrong thing
Build you up like a tower

Then you'll crash to the ground
When I leave this old town
Don't be surprised when I say
I never wanted to stay

True love cannot be tampered upon
Or enclosed in glass and released at will,
It is not an insignificant slave
At the beck and call of its master,
For love has no master and its power so great
That once touched by love's endearing caress,
One must blindly obey.

True love does not follow reason
For reason could not understand a lover's heart,
It is not a pupil that can be taught
Nor a henchman that can be ordered around,
For love is free and unbinding
And all feeble attempts to restrain it shall be in vain.

True love cannot be grown from the seed of lust
Or plucked from jealousy's petals,
For once the desire has waned
The fruits shall wither and rot.
It needn't ask permission to reside in one's heart
For like a thief in the night
Love can come and go as it pleases.

Blessed are lovers' eyes
For they can see true beauty,
For beauty can only be seen
Through true love's eyes.

and every morning when I wake
I see your shadow there
beside me in the bed in which I lay
your scent fills the empty air
I reach out my hand desperately
trying to feel what remains
but there was only coldness
and fear, heartache & pain
every bit of memory consumed
and devoured by time
I could never have lost you
for you were never mine